Of Moosen and Men
by The Reviews Lounge Too
Summary: Prize!drabbles for Level Five winners of the RLt's 2013 Reviewathon. Featuring Sherlock, Mario, X-Men, and more! ...we considered the title, "Aa;lksdjf;alskdjf i have no clue what to name this," and that should tell you something.
1. Captain Zangano

For: Captain Zangano

By: Rosawyn

Fandom: X-Men

**Gambit Knows Many Games**

* * *

Rogue was wandering through X-Mansion one evening, when she noticed Gambit sitting alone at a table with cards laid out in front of him.

Poking her head into the room, she asked, "You playin' Solitaire, Remy?"

"Mais oui, ma chère." He flashed her a grin.

She frowned slightly. "Wouldn't ya rather play cards with a partner?"

"Always, chère."

She sat down opposite him. "Well, what d'ya wanna play?"

He gathered the cards together and started shuffling them. "Gambit knows many games. Which game would you like to play wit' Gambit, eh?"

Her brow wrinkled in thought for a moment. "D'you know 'Scum'?"

"Perhaps. How is dis game played?"

She clasped her gloved hands on the table in front of her and bit her lip. "I'm not sure I remember all the rules exactly. I used t'play it with my mom and dad. I was kinda hoping you'd know it." She paused in thought again. "It's the one where you're tryin' t'be th' King or Queen instead o' th' Scum."

"Ah." He laughed softly. "Gambit knows dis game by a different name."

"Oh? What do you call it?"

He looked down at the cards in his hands as he shuffled them. "It's not a nice word, chère; we'll just call it Scum like you know it. But that game needs at least three players, and we are just us two. Do you perhaps know how to play Écarté?"

"I don't think so, unless it's also got another name."

"It's kinda like Euchre, if maybe you've played that?" He cut the deck and tapped both halves against the table.

"I don't think I've played that either, but maybe you could teach me? I mean, if you don't mind." She looked hopefully at him through her bangs.

"It would be a pleasure, ma chère."

When he turned over the Queen of Hearts for the trump, Gambit flashed a grin at Rogue as his fingers caressed the edges of the card. "Quite appropriate, no?"

She folded her arms across her chest and let out an annoyed huff. "Will you ever stop?"

His eyes twinkled at her. "I suppose Gambit will stop when he is dead, chère."


	2. Estoma

To: Estoma

By: MadameGiry25

Fandom: Hunger Games

**Flourmill**

* * *

Grinding, grinding, grinding…

Mother tells him to keep on quickly now, grind, grind, grind… Eyes on the grinder, not the screen. Turn the handle round and round, let the grain slip through his fingers and into the machine. He watches the grain skip and dance, trying to escape from the sharp blades before they slide out of his sight, to reappear in the wooden bowl on the table.

_Keep on, keep your mind on your work. Don't get distracted._

Mother's voice won't let him watch the television screen. It keeps his eyes pointed down, keeps his arms turning the crank of the tiny flourmill. He doesn't like it. He wants to stop, wants to watch. But Mother can't keep him from listening.

The men on the television are saying how it is a shame, how it just isn't fair. What they always say when a young child is killed. He recognizes that, he wonders who has died this time. He can't hear a tribute, can't even hear so much as a bird on the screen. All he hears is the announcer, who is being very careful not to mention a name.

_Lucius! Do as I say. I don't want to tell you again._

He'd stopped cranking without knowing it, and he begins afresh, sighing as he halfheartedly tosses another handful of grain into the mill. He pauses when he hears Mother make a sound as she pulls bread out of the oven. It is strange. He recognizes it as pain, but there is something else there… Not like when you scrape your knee or cut yourself on the mill…

Singing is on the screen now, singing…

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow_

He can't stop himself anymore, can't listen to Mother, must look. He sees a little girl lying on the floor of the arena, held in another girl's arms. The littler girl's face is turned away from him, but he recognizes her immediately. Rue!

Mother begins to sob, dropping the bread in her hands. She doesn't look at him, doesn't see that he's not doing his work. The sound scares him as she begins to cry and cry and cry…

Six years old… only six. Mother doesn't think that six is old enough to see that his big sister is sleeping. She screams and cries, and the sound frightens him. But he is old enough to know what the sound of the canon on the television means. He watches, running over to squeeze his mother's hand. The older girl… why is she sad? She's not supposed to be sad. She's winning.

He'd liked that girl. He'd liked watching her take care of Rue, helping his big sister. He'd thought maybe Rue could win the game now! But that was gone. He liked her… he saw the girl being nice to his big sister now that the canon said that she was gone. What did Mother always say he should do when someone was nice to you? Mother said that you should always say thank you.

He runs and grabs one of the hot loves from the dirt floor of the house.

_Mother? This is for her. For the nice girl._

Mother stares at him, and he wishes that she would stop crying. He doesn't understand why she's crying. Rue will come home. The canon just means that she lost. There's nothing more than that… right?

Mother takes the loaf from his hands, and the smile that she gives him makes him happy.

_Yes, Lucius. For the nice girl._


	3. IrishPanther

For: IrishPanther

By: Wendy Brune

Fandom: Mario

**Death By Stomp**

* * *

You wake up to the blinding light of pearly gates irritated at the inaccuracy of it all. They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die, but that's not quite true; for you, all you really see before your untimely death is a pair of black suede shoes looming closer and closer.

_stomp stamp stomp_

And to think, just this morning you'd bragged to your wife and kids that management was finally promoting you to a boot, your very own green boot. Their delighted faces sent you off to work with a whistle on your lips and a skip in your shuffle. Now lazy Bob from W-3 will get that promotion, and you'll never get to experience the joy of hopping about in your own giant footwear.

_maybe they'll bury you in your was-to-be boot; maybe they won't bury you at all. _

Death by stomp wasn't what you pictured when you signed up for that whole "new world order" thing; you weren't political – hell, you thought the King was doing a pretty good job – but when the whole neighborhood started rallying for democracy, you figured it was better to go with the crowd than to stand out as the dissenter.

_really then it's death by malcontent._

So you left your job at the plant and took over sector L-2 W-5, marveling at the beauty of your rounds. Sure, sometimes the koopas would tease you when they got bored, and yeah, eating lunch was a bit of a hassle, but you enjoyed your time thinking of simple things, of a time before green and spikes and plumbers. Now you're six feet under and heavens above and who will take care of your family and what happens next and all thanks to a pair of well-shined shoes.

_stomped stamped stomped_


	4. MessengerOfDreams

To: MessengerOfDreams

From: MadameGiry25

Fandom: Legend of Zelda

**Coin My Heart and Drop My Blood**

Note: Takes place during "Zelda II: The Adventure of Link"

* * *

There's something incredibly intriguing about watching a man fight himself with a sword. Something about the way that they are almost mirror images of themselves; the way they walk, the way they thrust and parry and block, the way they try to fool one another. It almost seems impossible that either of them will be able to win such a battle as this. How can you kill a shadow? And is it possible for a shadow to kill? The questions float through the air as the battle grows in intensity.

Link swings his sword at his shadow, and the shadow blocks smoothly, raising his own sword to attack; Link blocks and spins, ready for whatever comes next.

There is something curious about watching a battle such as this. Watching a shadow's blade slicing into flesh and letting droplets of blood spatter and begin to pool on the stone floor of the cave. Watching a man nearly cry out in pain as he swings his sword once more, making direct contact with the shadow, the wound a mirror image of his own.

The shadow has one weakness in such a battle as this. The shadow is an image of Link as he is. The shadow does not have the ability to think as Link does.

There is something in Link's eye that suggests he realizes this; he knows that he has the advantage. His sword goes up and back down in a classic move that he knows the shadow will recognize. The shadow falls for it, bringing his sword down just long enough so that Link can quickly reverse the move and send his sword crushing into whatever skull the shadow still possesses.

The battle is over before Link's realization has begun. The shadow is gone; where it has gone is unknown, whether it has melted or exploded or simply vanished…

As Link steps forward to take the Triforce of Courage, the man in the corner allows himself to smile. Link's face tells the man that the Hylian thinks he has won. But the man shakes his head and gives his fingertips a knowing smile.

Once the cave is deserted, the man is on his feet, pulling a long, elegant wand from his robes. A chuckle is pulled from his lips to morph into a howl of joy. He inserts the wand into the grey dirt that lines the floor, stirring Link's blood into it. His laughter is all the more potent as he revels in the knowledge that the dirt isn't dirt at all…

"May you not fear anything, my Lord Ganon. For I have succeeded where your servants have failed. You will rise again once more, and they will all pay for what they have done."

The ashes begin to swirl in the cave from a breeze of magic, frothing the blood-soaked remains of the dark lord, churning them into a great mass of bone and ash… the mortal remains of Ganon, ready to serve the spirit of their master once more.


	5. ReadingBlueWolf

For: ReadingBlueWolf

By: darkin520

Fandom: Marvel Avengers

**The Road to Hell**

* * *

After the invasion, Tony wasn't anticipating any changes in his life. He was Tony Stark, Iron Man, a _hero_. Everyone loved him. Rejection wasn't in his vocabulary. After the Avengers dispersed on their 'leave of absence,' Tony felt no need to leave. He had everything he needed in Stark Tower...mostly. But after about a week, he was bored and lonely. Pepper was still away, so Tony decided to see what the city had to offer. He had deprived people of his presence long enough.

The moment he stepped onto the sidewalk, he was bombarded by fans wanting autographs, something he was used to anyway. He gladly signed their books and magazines and sent them on their way. Life was good for Tony Stark.

...until he met a smiling, chubby-cheeked little boy. "You…you're Iron Man."

"I am. What's your name?"

"Charlie. Can I have your autograph, sir?" He handed him a wrinkled magazine clipping.

Tony chuckled. "Of course, and you can call me Tony." He scribbled his name down when he heard a sharp, shrill voice.

"Charlie!" An angry, middle-aged woman appeared. "I told you_ not_ to wander away."

"I'm sorry, but I wanted Iron Man's autograph. You were wrong, Mom. He's not a bad man. He's really nice, and he-"

The woman shot Tony a glare before turning to her son. "I don't want you having anything to do with him. _ He's_ the reason your father lost his job."

"I didn't put your husband out of a job," Tony protested.

"Oh, really?" she asked. "What about what you and your superhero friends did downtown? Do you know how many businesses were destroyed?"

Before Tony could offer an explanation, she grabbed Charlie and stormed off.

Tony let out a sigh. Apparently, not everyone loved him after all.

As Tony's world came crashing down with this realization, it got worse.

"I'm in love with someone else," Pepper cried on his shoulder. "I still love you; I always will. But you're in love with the suit. I'm not."

Tony let her go.

Alone again, Tony curled up with a bottle of Ben Nevis and drowned his sorrows, numbing the pain temporarily.

Some blurry amount of time later, Tony received an unexpected visitor.

"Wing Tips?"

"Tony? This isn't what I expected."

Tony rubbed his overgrown goatee self-consciously. "I haven't had visitors recently."

Steve stepped over empty scotch bottles. "Where's Pepper?"

"She's gone." He pointed towards the window. "And_ they_ hate me. No sense in going out. Besides, I've got J.A.R.V.I.S…and my other friend here."

Steve waved a hand. "I can smell that." He took the bottle and set it on the coffee table. "I thought you quit?"

"I thought a lot of things that turned out to be lies."

Steve sighed. "It's been a while since you were out there?"

"What was your first clue, Captain Obvious?"

"I mean, you think everyone hates us."

"They do. I got yelled at by some kid's mother whose husband lost his job because the building was destroyed during the invasion."

Steve shook his head. "So one kid's mother dislikes you. She's everyone?"

"You weren't there. You didn't see what it was like."

"I just got back from a cross-country ride. Yeah, I met some people who hate us. I also met many people who think we're heroes. You're a hero, Tony, no matter what anyone says."

Tony snorted. "Then why don't I feel like one?"

"Because you're sitting in here, drowning in scotch?"

"Maybe that's what I deserve."

"What do you mean?"

"That kid…I let him down. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. We had good intentions, but let's face it: we made mistakes."

"Everyone makes mistakes. We're _human_; most of us, anyway." He smirked. "We're heroes; we're not perfect. There're always going to be some who don't like us, but when we save them again, they'll change their tune."

"I guess."

"Go take a shower. I'll clean up."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm staying for a while…if that's okay."

Tony shrugged. "It'd be nice to have more than J.A.R.V.I.S to talk to." He turned to leave.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"If you're going to Hell, I guess I'll be going with you."

Tony smiled. "Thanks, Cap."

**A/N: A huge thank you to Rosawyn for betaing.**


	6. ScorpionsMischief

To: ScorpionsMischief

From: Giry

Fandom: ACD Sherlock Holmes

**Sweep **

* * *

"Watson!"

"What is it, Holmes?"

"I rather think that you should come outside. There's something here that you will want to see."

"Can it not wait, Holmes? I'm rather busy at the moment, and I don't have time for games."

"Sorry to say that it cannot. We have a guest, and he is most eager to see you. Immediately."

"I'm coming. But you'd better have a good… My God, Holmes!"

"I do want to say that before you ask, I had absolutely nothing to do with this."

"Oh, no doubt of it. But would you care to deduce why there is a pair of small legs sticking out of our chimney at this time of the night?"

"I can't imagine, Watson. But I'd imagine that he'd tell us if we were able to get him down. He's making such a fuss now that I can't get a word out of him."

"Get him down? And how exactly do you suggest that we do that?"

"Well… I would recommend a ladder and a strong right arm. Do you feel up to the challenge, doctor?"

"I'll get the ladder. But you're doing the climbing."

"Very well."

"Holmes, be careful! The last thing that we need is for you to fall and break your neck!"

"Have you no faith in my climbing abilities, Watson?"

"I can't imagine, Holmes."

* * *

"Well, this little one has had a lucky escape. Hardly a mark on him that won't wash off."

"I think we should bring him in for a good meal, Watson. He looks half starved. Mrs. Hudson can get him something to eat. You'd like that wouldn't you? Still not talking, I see…"

"A good meal and some warm clothes will bring him round. He looks scared to death."

"I can only imagine. The chimney sweep was supposed to come round last week, and he hasn't been here. That chimney is likely ghastly."

* * *

"Holmes, I think that this boy needs more care than the two of us can give him."

"Whatever do you mean, Watson? He appears to be in excellent health for one who lives on the street."

"But he's alone, Holmes. He has no family, no friends, no one. How do you think that he got stuck in our chimney?"

"I'm sure you're about to enlighten me."

"He was trying to avoid some of the bigger boys on the street that were chasing him and trying to steal from him. He was small enough that he was able to climb onto the roofs and escape from them that way. But he didn't look where he was going and fell into the chimney. Thank goodness it was our chimney and not someone else's."

"Quite so. But what are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that you get some of your people to help him out. Care for him and give him family again. Holmes, you can't be blind to his plight. He needs our help."

"But help has already been given, Watson."

"How do you mean?"

"Wiggins is in there with him right now. This little one is perfectly capable of growing into their little gang. And there is no one better to show him the ropes than our Wiggins."

"That is certainly right, Holmes."

"I look after my boys, Watson. Haven't you deduced that by now?"


	7. starlightmoonprincess

For: starlightmoonprincess

By: Rosawyn

Fandom: X-Men movies

**Worthy of You**

* * *

Over the chessboard one evening, Charles asked, "If you could have one wish, Erik, what would it be?"

"I'd wish the world were made of metal," Erik said as he moved his bishop to attack Charles' knight – the knight was guarded, so Charles wasn't too concerned.

Charles laughed softly as he advanced one of his pawns. "I'm sure you'd love to have everything under your control."

Erik's eyes narrowed and he let out an annoyed huff, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "That's not the point at all, Charles."

"I'm sorry. I meant no offence."

Erik stood and walked to the window, looking out into the darkness.

Charles wanted desperately to know what Erik was thinking, but he wasn't about to actively use his power without Erik's consent.

Finally, Erik spoke: "It's not that I want to control things for the sake of being in control." His mouth pulled into an expression that was half rueful smile, half grimace as he glanced down at his feet. "Things are so different now," he said, his words so soft Charles had to strain to hear them. He turned to look at Charles. "I want to shape the world into something worthy of you."

Charles' breath caught in his throat. "I-" Somehow, it was at once wonderful and terrible to hear Erik say that. He stood and walked to Erik, taking Erik's hands in his own. "Thank you," he said softly. "You'll forgive me if I'm not exactly sure how to respond to that sort of declaration."

Erik raised one hand and gently stroked Charles' cheek. "I think I could forgive you anything," he said, then leaned forward hesitantly and kissed Charles ever so carefully as if he wasn't sure he was allowed.


	8. xStrawberryDuckFeathersx

For: XStrawberryDuckFeathersX

By: darkin520

Fandom: Harry Potter

**Godspeed and Sweet Dreams**

* * *

From as far back as George could remember, he never liked it when he and Fred were separated. He remembered when he and Fred were three, his parents felt they needed to spend time with other children rather than one another.

Truth was, Molly was more worried about the mischief they caused when they were together. She and their father had an idea to split the children up for the day. She took Fred and Percy out for a walk while George and Bill stayed home with their father.

All George could remember was sobbing the whole time. For some reason, he had this feeling in the pit of his stomach, worried he might never see his brother again. Ironically…or luckily…Fred did the same exact thing for his mother. And when she finally returned home, she promised to never split them apart again…and Fred and George held her to that promise.

As they grew older, George couldn't recall any other time they'd been kept apart, but that didn't stop the nightmares he had about it.

He saw images of Fred suffering a horrible death that would force him to awaken, hyperventilating and in a cold sweat.

He literally needed to walk to his brother's bed and physically pull him into a hug to make sure he wasn't a figment of his imagination.

Fred always woke up then.

_"What is it?" he asked._

_"I had the nightmare again."_

_"Oh. How did it happen this time?"_

_"A giant spider."_

_"They're getting worse, huh?" He lifted the covers. "Come on."_

This is how it went, and George always accepted his brother's invitation. He needed to be sure he wasn't going to leave him…because if he did, he was afraid he'd never see him again. He couldn't bear the thought, but Fred would always make him feel better.

_"Godspeed and sweet dreams," he whispered. _

And all would be right with the world once again.

Once they were old enough to attend Hogwarts, George thought the nightmares would go away. They didn't.

He was too proud to climb into bed with his brother there, but he still woke up with the nightmares. Fred would hear him, sit up in bed and ask him if he was all right.

_"I'm fine. Just go back to sleep."_

_"What was it this time?"_

_George would shake his head. "I can't remember."_

_Fred gave a shrug, laid down, and went back to sleep. In the darkness, George heard him whisper, "Godspeed and sweet dreams."_

George had been lying, however. He watched his brother die over and over again in his dreams nearly every night now. He wasn't sure why, but he made a point to never be too far away from him. And Fred did the same.

After they left Hogwarts to open their joke shop, George hoped the nightmares would finally cease. He and Fred were never apart then, and they were doing exactly what they loved. Unfortunately, the nightmares only seemed to get worse. George didn't understand it, and Fred began asking questions again.

_"I thought they had stopped?" Fred asked him one night._

_George shrugged. "They've never really stopped."_

_"Is there anything I can do for you?" Fred asked him after a pause._

_George thought for a long moment. "Yeah, I think there is. Promise me…you promise me you'll never leave my side. I can't…I can't protect you if you do."_

_Fred smiled softly and pushed himself up out of bed, walking towards him. "You don't need to protect me, George. And even if those dreams come true…if something bad does happen…we should make a vow right now."_

_"What's that?"_

_"One of us must survive and live for the other one." He held out his hand to shake. "Deal?"_

_"Deal."_

_"Godspeed and sweet dreams, George."_

_"You, too."_

During the war, however, George and Fred became separated. There was no avoiding it. And while George didn't get his wish, he was able to keep his promise.

He laid a hand on his brother's headstone. "We're going to have the best life, Freddie, I promise. Godspeed and sweet dreams."

**A/N: Many thanks to Wildcard999 for betaing.**


	9. Bree Avalon

For: Bree Avalon

By: ShadedRogue

Fandom: Death Note

**Flesh and Bone**

* * *

The flesh above L's collar bone was pale and soft, warm to the touch beneath Light's steady hand. He could feel L shiver as he traced along the sharp line of his clavicle down to where the bone met the manubrium of his sternum. L was so thin that Light could almost trace every bone in his body and he never could quite resist listing them and the organs that lay beneath them off in his head, one by one, as his fingers brushed across the pale flesh that stretched above them. His fingers traced down, _sternum, xiphoid process, costal cartilage, true ribs, false ribs, lungs, heart_, and back up again to L's throat_, trachea, larynx, pharynx, hyoid, epiglottis, _major blood vessels, _jugular, internal and external carotid_ – if Light hadn't been so set on becoming a police officer like his father he may have considered an occupation as a doctor.

L was a formidable opponent; smart, dangerous, and more of a threat than Light had initially expected out of someone so dark and strange. L seemed untouchable, wrapped in a shroud of mystery that made it impossible for Light to kill him with the power of the death note. L always seemed so out of reach that it often surprised Light, in moments like these alone together in their stolen moments of privacy, that when it came down to it the most brilliant detective in the world was just that – pale flesh and fragile bones, with a wet pulsing mass of organs underneath. Mortal.

His fingers traced upwards again, dancing along the skin of L's exposed throat and pausing briefly above the carotid to feel the throbbing pulse of L's heart against his fingertips. How easy it could be to end it all now the good old fashioned way – to get his hands dirty and feel the warm splash of arterial spray across his face as he carved into that paper-thin flesh and stained it red. His hands moved again, the left moving to join the right, hovering over L's windpipe – how easy it would be to squeeze that fragile structure and choke the life out of him. How intimate it would be to watch the life drain from those dark eyes once and for all, knowing that he had destroyed the only person who had the potential to shatter all that he had worked so hard to accomplish in this rotten world. L – the man without a name, the world's greatest detective – as human as the other sacks of flesh that Light had killed.

His fingers traced along L's face – _mandible, ramus, maxilla, zygomatic_ – and as he felt L's eyes on him he lifted his own gaze to meet them. L's expression was unreadable but Light could see the cogs turning in his brain analyzing and translating his every move, making calculations and readjustments of how certain he was that Light was Kira.

Even as L shifted and pulled him closer, Light had a feeling that L knew what dark place his thoughts had strayed to, could feel it in the almost imperceptible tenseness that had crept into L's muscles. Light also knew that L could only sense those thoughts as a feeling deep in his gut – very much the same way that L knew in his gut that Light was Kira, but could never hold on to something more substantial than that to prove it. L's instincts were very good, and yet, somehow, those instincts never seemed to get in the way of their clandestine affair, as L, still tense, reached up and brushed a stray hair out of Light's face.

Light smiled, a small thing that curved around the edges. He could kill L so very easily, _but_, he thought, as he bent down and pressed his lips to L's, _what would be the fun in that?_


	10. Hurlstien

For: Hurlstien

By: ShadedRogue

Fandom: Batman

**Kingdom Come**

* * *

He was a child who had been born of Hell; a son of the dark and terrible places that men had only dreamt up in stories and children could never imagine even in their worst nightmares. His mother, he had been told, had died in childbirth – although he had heard the whispers that she had suffered a much darker fate at the hands of the other inmates – and his father was a man he had known only through whispers and rumours and through the whippings that had stripped the skin from his back. His father was the reason he had been born to suffer this fate – gaining life imprisonment but, like a coward, dying before he had the chance to carry out the sentence.

He was intimate with pain and suffering, a companion of the shadows and far too used to tight spaces. Several decades of his life had passed before he had ever felt the warmth of the sun, before he had even seen the world in vibrant colour instead of muted greys. This place was where they threw the most hardened and dangerous criminals, or their children, down to rot for the rest of their lives –and often, those children became the most hardened and dangerous of them all. This place was Hell on Earth, but he had fought and clawed his way to the top, he had killed and nearly been killed, and he had become their king.

He may have had a name once, when his mother's heart had still been beating, but she had died a long time ago and no one else had cared to remember it – but it didn't matter. Whoever he had been, the name that he had never had, had been a small, weak boy who had hidden behind the shadows of others – some unfortunate child that he had cast aside as he took his mantle as the king among the damned.

Now he is somebody strong and dangerous, ruthless. He is Bane, now, and he had risen up from the dark fires to become the king of Hell – and now, as he stands there watching Gotham burn around him, he sets his sights on a different kingdom.


	11. SunnyStorms

For: SunnyStorms

By: Wendy Brune

Fandom: The Lizzie Bennett Diaries

**A Pair of Fine Eyes**

* * *

The crowd of men waiting for the garter toss ranged from 20-somethings to the less youthful – looking at you, Samuel "Old Man" Woodhouse – and although he could see Bing standing among them with an amicable grin on his face, a spot hiding in the corner seemed much more attractive. William Darcy didn't do crowds; in fact, he didn't much care for the people who made up crowds, either. No, instead of competing with the others for a chance to dance with the red-head who'd caught the bride's bouquet, he preferred standing to the side and trying to look invisible.

But destiny had other plans, and as soon as the lacy piece of elastic hit him in the chest, he knew he'd end up dancing after all.

As he walked to the center of the dance floor, he realized his partner in the spotlight was none other than that Lizzie Bennett, daughter of the horrid Mrs. Bennett and sister of the quiet but deadly gold-digger that'd captured Bing's eye. Just his luck. She'd probably misinterpret this forced dance as interest on his part and go after him, too.

And yet, as the music started and they began their awkward sway, he couldn't help but note that she possessed the most peculiar set of eyes. It wasn't just the color, although her eyes were not dissimilar to the sea after the storm. No, it was the ripples of intelligence that pooled just below the surface paired with the liveliness of spirit that crinkled in her corners. It was most unusual. It was...mesmerizing? It was -

"Do you like it here in town?" his partner asked him, interrupting his reverie. Suddenly the waters of her eyes had gone dark, and he imagined little red-headed mermaids bellow their surface, ready to drown any poor chap who made the mistake of wandering by

"Not especially." After all, the longer he was in town the less time he had to run Pemberley Digital. Plus there was the small matter of Gigi...

"Do you enjoy dancing, then?" Lizzie responded, the look in her eyes piecing his own.

"Not if I can help it."

Instead of laughing at his obvious sarcasm, she only turned her head away from him. "I suppose it doesn't help when your partner is only 'barely tolerable.'" Before he could even respond, the song ended and she quickly flounced off to join her noisy family at her table.

William Darcy was left floundering in a pair of fine eyes.


	12. Tune4Toons

For: Tune4Toons

By: Megalink1126

Fandom: Fire Emblem (Awakening)

**What He Doesn't Know**

* * *

The expert tactician, they call me. The Grandmaster. The genius responsible for Ylisse's stunning victory over Plegia. They praise me for my cunning, for my ability to size up the situation and always know just what needs to be done in order to come out on top.

But to be honest, there are a lot of things I do not know.

I don't know about my past, about where I came from. My oldest memory is that of waking up in a field with Chrom and Lissa standing over me. I do not know what I was doing there, or what caused me to lose my memories. And looking back, I don't know what it was that caused me to lie to them like that either.

The war with Plegia is over, and for the first time I can remember, I do not know what the right move is for me to make. In a way, I suppose it is fitting. After all, I was the one who got myself into this mess.

Chrom and I are engaged to be married. That fact alone should be enough to make me happy. Chrom is the man of my dreams. He is so brave, so strong, and yet he cares about those around him on a personal level. He listens and takes even the simplest things I say to him to heart. Even the way he looks at me with his half-smile is enough to send my heart aflutter. He is my best friend, my closest ally, and I know without a doubt in my mind that I love him.

In a perfect world, we would be the perfect match for each other; like two sides of the same coin. But our world is far from perfect.

I am a man. And Chrom… Chrom does not know this.

When they first found me, Chrom fell under the assumption that I was a woman. I don't know why, although he does have a bit of a history of mistaking people's gender (I still poke fun at him occasionally about thinking Marth was a boy and Libra was a girl, mostly to ease my own insecurities). And I… I did not correct him. No, it was more than that. I _encouraged_ him and Lissa and Frederick to believe I was a girl. I'm not exactly sure why I lied to them myself. Perhaps I felt some kind of fleeting attraction for him even then, and I was subconsciously afraid he would reject me immediately if he knew the truth. Who knows? All I can remember is having a feeling that I should go along with the charade, and I trusted my instincts.

I hardly expected that we would grow to love one another.

But my lie cannot last forever. Even now Chrom expects things of me that I will not be able to give him. He expects me to be his wife, a role I will never be able to fill. Yet even with this knowledge, I hesitate. How can I tell him the truth? After all this time, will he still look at me the same knowing that I lied to him? Will he still love me despite the fact that I am not all that he thought I was? In my heart, I fear that the answer is no.

But… I have to try. If I don't, then I end up losing him for certain. My only chance, _our_ only chance, is if I come clean and pray to Naga that he will still accept me afterwards. After all, how can I expect Chrom to love me if I am not true to him? If I am not true to myself?

My name is Robin. I may not know much about my past or where I came from, but I do know what I want my future to be. And that future is with Chrom, no matter what obstacles we must overcome.


	13. infiniteworld8

For: infiniteworld8

By: Megalink1126

Fandom: Jumper

**Scars**

* * *

"How'd you keep it a secret from people? Like your parents?"

It was an innocent question, one simply asked out of sheer curiosity. Or at least, it would have been innocent had David been talking to pretty much anyone besides Griffin. But then again, if the two of them hadn't been Jumpers, he probably wouldn't have asked such a question in the first place.

Mostly, it just showed how bloody clueless David was about how things in this world worked for people like them.

"It's pretty easy when they're not around," Griffin said flippantly, but stiffening ever-so-slightly as he fought to control the memories churning and twisting inside of him. It was a wound he carried that had never fully healed and never would. The scars on his psyche were one of his most defining aspects; the link between his past and his present, the driving force that had led him to where he was today.

And David's simple words tore through him like a chainsaw ripping through tissue paper, his memories spilling forth and engulfing him as they had millions of times before.

"Where were they?"

How could he explain? How could he explain that he had spent almost his entire childhood on the run with his parents, constantly hiding from the Paladins who threatened to kill him just because he was different? How could he explain that every time he had drawn too much attention to himself or had accidentally jumped somewhere, his parents would be thrown into a frenzy and they would be forced to sneak out under the cover of darkness like a bunch of criminals to find some new town and start all over again?

How could he explain his most stupid mistake? That when he was nine he had accidentally jumped to get away from a bully after karate, and hadn't told his parents about it because he was tired of running. That three days later, he had come home to find his house in shambles, his mother dead on the kitchen floor in a pool of her own blood. That he had found his father, alive but dying, a gaping hole in his chest. That he had held his father in his arms as he passed, a broken, weeping shell of a man he once was. That all he could do was jump away before the Paladins found and killed him too.

No. This was all so stupid. David didn't need to know any of that. Those were the scars that covered _him_, and they were_his _problem to deal with, not anyone else's. So instead, Griffin channeled all of his pent-up heartbreak, his anger, his loss, into two simple words he felt got the message across quite clearly.

"Not around."


End file.
